eached. George got
out and led the horses into the middle of the small river craft. Then the
boat was pushed off and a strong man and boy pulled at the wire rope. The
ferryman's shanty, the willows, and tangled driftwood on the shore, fast
receded, and soon the middle of the Connecticut River was reached, where
the current is swiftest. In sight were several canoes with light sails,
scudding before the wind. It seemed as if the tiny rope of the ferry
would break, but the rope is of steel wire and the boat moved slowly till
the opposite bank was reached. Gertrude held the lines, the sun shining
full in her face, and talked to the boatman, to George, and the horses,
but George said little as he was busy quieting the excited animals and
studying the primitive rope-ferry.

To the regular ferrage, Gertrude added a dime for Tim, the helper, who
watered the horses. As George was about to start his team, a twelve-year
old farm boy ran aboard the boat with a string of fine speckled trout
strung on a willow twig. All the spring the boy's anticipations for
"a day off" had now been fully realized. Since daylight the little fellow
had tramped up and down the brook, his feet were bruised and sore, and
his face and hands were bitten by mosquitos. But what of that? He had
caught a string of fine fish and was happy. Gertrude, for a silver
dollar, bought the trout, and the boy danced with joy.

It was half past eleven before the Half-way Station up the mountain was
reached, and the steep ascent to Prospect House on the top of Mt. Holyoke
was made by the car on the inclined railway. The morning ride and the
thought of a dinner of brook trout on the mountain had sharpened the
appetites of the lovers. George and Gertrude needed but a single
announcement of dinner from the clerk to make them hasten for seats at so
inviting a meal. They sat near an open window, and never did they enjoy a
dinner more. College work was now over, and on the threshold of life,
apart from the busy world in sight below, two souls could plan and
confide in each other. As the two walked the broad porch, a panorama
unfolded before them of almost unsurpassed beauty.

Charles Sumner who, in 1847, stood on Mt. Holyoke, said, "I have never
seen anything so unsurpassingly lovely as this." He had traveled through
the Highlands of Scotland, up and down the Rhine, had ascended Mont
Blanc, and stood on the Campagna in Rome. Gertrude with her college mates
had often climbed Mt